


Pretty Picture

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [21]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Burnplay, M/M, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8314276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: It’s a test of Mitch’s willpower to hold still while Scott paints his design on Mitch’s skin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> KINKtober Day 17: Waxplay

It’s a test of Mitch’s willpower to hold still while Scott paints his design on Mitch’s skin. He’s not bound, though now that they’ve started he thinks he’d prefer cuffs around his wrists, at least. He keeps jerking his arms, aborted attempts to cover himself at each sharp sting. Scott’s sitting on his knees, so Mitch can’t move his hips much, and thankfully Scott doesn’t seem to mind that Mitch keeps shifting his shoulders, twisting and turning his torso as color drips down.

Finally Mitch reaches up to grab two handfuls of the pillowcase, just for something to clench his fists around. It’s easier to keep from moving when he has somewhere to focus his energy. He winces through the pain and watches Scott’s hand, watches the slow tilt of the candle.

It’s red, right now, and a puddle of molten wax glistens in the shallow well around the wick. Scott raises his hand high, slowly turns his wrist, and releases a thin stream of the wax.

It splatters in a curving line just beneath his ribs, following the curve of Mitch’s body, arcing across from side to side. Scott lets the wax pool for a moment before tilting again and following up his red line with a second curving line from hip to hip, like two parenthesis bracketing Mitch’s navel.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Mitch hisses. “Shhhhit.”

“Hurts?” Scott asks.

“Fuck you.”

Scott switches candles. This one’s blue, and Scott holds it a little lower. It’s hotter when it drips onto Mitch’s skin and he sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. Scott paints the blue wax into little lines, like rays of sun, and then pours a thicker stream all the way up to his sternum. It splashes over the green wax that’s already cooled around Mitch’s nipples.

They only have two more colors, a purple candle and a black one, and Scott dithers for a moment in deciding which to use next. Mitch is grateful for the reprieve and closes his eyes for a few seconds, breathing hard like he’s just run a mile. The pain of the cooling wax has already faded, but the adrenaline from it is making him tense and jittery. Suddenly another hot splash of wax falls into the crease of one thigh.

Mitch yelps and thrashes, but Scott’s weight on his legs keeps him pinned to the bed.

“God fucking _fuck_ , shit, dammit—” Mitch cries as Scott mirrors the wax design on Mitch’s other leg. It’s the purple he’s chosen, and little flecks of molten wax are splashing tantalizingly close to Mitch’s cock. His heart races with anticipation.

Scott switches to the final candle, the foreboding black candle, and holds it aloft, letting the flame melt the wax into a puddle, ready to drip. He makes eye contact with Mitch and grins, looking entirely too smug about this situation.

He doesn’t give any warning before dripping the wax down around the base of Mitch’s cock. It doesn’t hurt as intensely as the wax on his stomach—thick pubic hair protects this sensitive skin—but Mitch throws his head back and sucks in a deep breath, because he knows what’s coming. Mitch tucks his hands between the edge of the mattress and the headboard. It’s not enough to clench his fists around, but at least it grounds him.

Scott drips several fat splotches of black wax onto the shaft of Mitch’s cock and Mitch feels decidedly untethered. He screams, every muscle crying out for relief from this tension. The pain is gone in an instant, but Mitch lets out a steady stream of cusses while Scott laughs at him.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, oh god, fucking _shit_ , fuck you,” Mitch mutters.

He hasn’t come, he’s only half-hard, but that’s not what this is about. Mitch almost feels like he’s just had an orgasm, in fact. His head is doing the satisfying floating thing that it does after he comes; it’s like he’s swimming through a bright fog that leaves his energy depleted and his vision fuzzy. He breathes for a moment, letting his body relax, and listens to the sounds of Scott putting the candles back in their cabinet.

By the time Scott comes back, some of the haziness has dissipated. Mitch looks down at his body, at the colorful pattern Scott has made on him. The wax feels stiff and it pulls at his hair every time he shifts his hips, and as pretty as it looks, Mitch is ready to peel it off.

Scott insists on snapping a couple of pictures with his phone—with Mitch’s cock carefully cropped out, or so Scott assures him—before he allows Mitch to pick at the flaking wax on his chest. It’s weirdly satisfying to peel it off, roll the pieces into little wax balls between his fingers, flick them away. This is part of the fun, for Mitch.

Another part of the fun is revealing the marks underneath the wax. It wasn’t hot enough to burn him for real, but everywhere the wax touched him is flushed rosy pink, and each mark carries a memory of the heat. Mitch fits his fingertips to one red splotch just to the left of his belly button. He vividly remembers the flash of pain that accompanied it, and it makes warmth and contentment bloom in his chest.

It takes both of them to clean the wax from around Mitch’s cock. Scott wipes away the greasy residue from the wax with a wet facial cloth and sits back on his heels to take one last picture. He focuses on the marks, the redness that Mitch can’t stop touching.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, finally lowering the phone after a few seconds.

Mitch presses his thumb into a not-quite-burn on his hip. He wonders if he can make it bruise. He looks up at Scott. “Yes. Thanks for making me pretty.”

“You’re always pretty,” Scott replies. “My work of art.”

Mitch rolls his eyes and waits for the sappy moment to pass before meeting Scott’s gaze again. He stares up into Scott’s soft eyes and says, “Thank you.”

 

_fin_.


End file.
